Alpha
by Kelpsicle
Summary: Warren Graham would do just about anything for Max Caulfield. A retelling of Warren's scenes from LiS from his perspective. Straight outta the headcanon of a GrahamField shipper.


**This is my headcanon, using primarily pre-established events and dialogue from (one of) my play-throughs of Life is Strange. I don't know if I'll post the remainder of what I've written-the content that surpasses episode 4-until episode 5 is released and I can keep the timeline accurate.**

 **This is GrahamField.**

 **Off we go!**

"Hey, Brooke?" Warren jogged up to his friend. She was flying her drone around the quad as usual. It seemed like every time he finished his science labs, he could count on finding her outside with her drone, or her homework, or some sort of science project.

"Oh! Uh, hey, Warren, how was class?" She smiled brightly at him, offering him the controls, which he gladly accepted.

"Not bad. I didn't know there was a back page to that quiz I had last week, so I completely missed like seven questions, but Ms. Grant was cool with me finishing it today. She won't even take any points off, for a fellow scientist." He flashed her a lopsided grin as he brought the drone in for a gentle landing on her shoulder.

"So did you hear about the Planet of the Apes marathon at the drive-in?" Warren asked.

"Yes! I mean, yeah, I heard. I thought I'd check it out. You know I own the entire original collection?"

"Really? Sweet! So I was thinking, it's pretty lame to go to the drive-in alone, right?"

She was giving him a strange look. "Yeah, you'd probably have to upgrade your nerd card for platinum membership." She nudged his arm playfully, but Warren hardly noticed; he was too embarrassed about what he was about to ask.

"Do you think Max would say yes if I asked her to go with me? As, like, more than friends?"

Brooke immediately stood up a little straighter, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, I'm sure she would, Warren. Why wouldn't she?"

"Uh, thanks. You really think so?" Warren was confused by the sudden change in her tone. Had he done something to upset her? Was she in a fight with Max that he didn't know about? He doubted it—they were both too cool for that bullshit, and Max didn't seem like the type to have a beef with anyone who didn't deserve it.

"Yeah, I really think so... But Warren?" She put her hands in her back pockets, nervously rocking onto the balls of her feet. "If she says no, then do you want to go together? I mean, as friends, obviously. Because you wouldn't want the public shame of going to the drive-in alone, right?"

Warren grinned. Brooke was the best. "Yeah, for sure. Same if you get a date too, okay? You don't have to be stuck with me if you get a better offer," he said jokingly, bumping his shoulder against hers.

She laughed, but there was a weird, forced quality to it.

"In Arcadia Bay? Not likely. It's pretty slim pickings here." She paused, looking at the ground. "There's only one guy I would want to go on a date with, and I know he's not going to ask me."

"What? That's stupid, any guy would be lucky to go with you. You should ask him, it might surprise you. And if he says yes, then seriously, feel free to cancel on me. I won't stand in the way of true love." He put a hand to his chest, sighing dramatically.

"Yeah… Thanks, Warren," she said, sighing sadly and grabbing the drone controls back from him. He walked away, wishing he hadn't brought up the drive-in at all. He didn't want to make her feel bad; he really hoped that guy asked her out. She deserved to be happy.

MWMWMWMWMW

Max had finally shown up to the parking lot. Warren waited patiently as she chatted with Juliet for a minute. Then she jogged up to him and he couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across his face.

"What up, Max? How are you?" he asked, going in for a hug. He was met with a flash drive pointed at his sternum. Okay, no hug. That's kind of embarrassing. He hoped he hadn't looked completely ridiculous. He rubbed his neck with his hand and gestured at the car he was leaning against.

"Check out my new wheels!"

"Cool! Very old-school," Max said agreeably. What a perfect segue.

"Now we can go to the drive-in. There's one in Newberg, just 60 miles away."

"You're in the wrong time, Warren," she joked, crossing her arms. His heart was in his throat. That didn't sound like a compliment. "But then again, so am I." Fuck. Now he could breathe again.

They talked movies for a while—she had checked out the stuff he'd picked for her in the Max folder of his flash drive, and it seemed like she dug most of it. Except for the "emo vampire movies."

"Can't a sensitive high school boy love sensitive vampires, too?" he asked ironically.

"So you're sensitive…"

"Ouch….that sounds awful the way you say it."

"How so?"

"Sensitive usually means 'won't be having sex with you.'" Christ on a bicycle. Why the fucking fuck did he say that? He panicked for a second, hoping Max took it as the joke he intended, fully aware that it sounded like he was complaining about not having sex with her. He really didn't mean that. Not that he didn't want to have sex with her. But that was a dangerous train of thought.

Luckily, Max didn't seem to dwell on his words or notice his internal dilemma. Warren mentioned the movie again, but never got an answer; she obviously had something on her mind, and he was thrilled when she actually wanted to talk to him about it. She leaned against the car next to him and he had a vision of draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, protecting her from whatever was weighing on her. Not that Max needed protecting. But if she did, he would be the first volunteer.

"I had this bizarre dream in Mr. Jefferson's class today," she began. It was almost hard for him to hear her with her so close to him, looking up at him with those huge blue eyes, but he did his best.

Before she got the chance to tell him her big secret, though, Nathan Prescott stalked over with a dangerous expression on his face.

"You're Max Caulfield, right?" Warren hated Nathan Prescott—the douchebag lived across the hall from him, and if he even bothered to acknowledge Warren's existence, it was to call him a pussy or a fag or shove him into a wall. There was no reason for it—Nathan had just decided that Warren was below his attention, and for the most part, Warren liked it that way.

He strode up to them, pushing Warren aside and getting in Max's face. Warren watched them warily—he was way too close to her, calling her a bitch and accusing her of taking pictures and…giving them to the principle? He wasn't quite sure; all he knew was that Nathan started yelling and reached toward her. That was enough.

"Get away from her, dude!" he shouted, grabbing Nathan by the shoulder. Nathan turned and head butted Warren with all the force he could muster; Warren was caught completely off balance and knocked to the pavement, and by the time he'd gotten his breath back, Nathan had Max by the throat and a shitty old pickup truck was screeching to a halt right in front of them.

"Max?"

"Chloe?"

"No way. _You again?"_

Warren summoned all his courage (which was easier than he expected, after seeing Nathan put his hands on Max) and leaped back into the fight, tackling Nathan to the ground and yelling, "Go! Go, I got this!" The tables turned almost immediately, and Nathan had Warren on his back, staring at the tire of the car he'd been so excited to show Max just ten minutes ago. He could feel fists connecting haphazardly with his face—he'd had no idea how bad that would hurt until now—but it didn't matter, because every second Nathan was beating him up was putting distance between him and Max. And when Max shouted his name, the concern in her voice almost made him smile.

 _Almost_ , he thought, as Nathan Prescott's knuckles connected solidly with his cheekbone. By the time Nathan got back to Max, she was already in the truck with the cute blue-haired maniac he didn't recognize (that had to be a little safer…right?) and speeding out of the lot as Mr. Madsen burst onto the scene, tucking a digital camera into his aggressively large security belt.

 _It's a good thing Blackwell security guards don't have Tasers,_ Warren thought dimly as he pulled himself to his feet, _because this guy looks like he would shoot first and ask questions later._

"What the hell is going on here?" Mr. Madsen barked. Nathan just sneered and brushed past him, heading towards the dorms. The guard shot Warren a suspicious look before following after him, hopefully to bring the hammer down on him for once.

MWMWMWMWMW

It was 8:00 in the morning, Warren's entire skull was throbbing, and he was loitering in front of the girl's dormitories like a weirdo, probably about to have a panic attack. He'd been out there for about 20 minutes and was about to give it up as a bad job. He really wished he'd decided to text Max about the drive-in. For some reason, he thought doing it in person would be easier so that he could see her reaction, hear her tone of voice… and just be around her again, honestly. Max was the only person at Blackwell that seemed to really see him, understand him, and like him anyway—he was getting addicted to that feeling.

He turned and peered up at her window—He couldn't see anything. he didn't know how early Max got up; just because he was too nervous to sleep in, that didn't mean that she was awake. He saw a light flicker on and his heart tripped over itself. For the next 15 minutes, he tried to find the perfect pose, effortless and natural. Because he always checked his Facebook news feed in the quad at 8:30 in the fucking morning. This was a terrible idea. Abort mission.

"Hey, Warren. What are you doing here?"

Shit! "Oh, nothing. Waiting—for a call? I mean, I already took the call… Anyway, I wanted to rap about that action yesterday." Oh Jesus Christ… he was regretting every single word coming out of his mouth, but he just couldn't stop. If he stopped talking, he might never start again, and he'd be damned if he was going to miss this chance.

"By the way, thank you for stepping in. You were pretty badass, Warren. I owe you." Well, 'owe' wasn't exactly what he was going for, but he could work with that.

"Oh yes, you do. I got knocked on my ass by that dick. I'm some personal superhero," he joked, sounding cocky. She agreed, calling him a real everyday hero, and the warm glow he'd felt in his chest when she had almost confided in him yesterday was back with a vengeance. He was glad she was okay after escaping with her friend, whose name was Chloe, apparently.

"Why is Nathan Prescott getting psycho on you?"

"I busted him in the bathroom yesterday with a gun. I'll give you the story later."

"Weird fucking week." Warren felt his adrenaline kick in as he made a clunky segue, bringing the topic back to the drive-in. _Okay, this is it. Ask her out now, before you chicken out. Tell her you're ridiculously in love with her. You have a black eye, and she even said she owes you. Owes you…_

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Warren realized that an obligation date was as bad as a pity date. If he confessed his feelings to Max, she might say yes because she thought she had to, not because she really wanted to. The thought made him vaguely nauseous. This wasn't the right time to be completely honest about his feelings. Soon, but not now.

"That drive-in is having a 70s Planet of the Apes marathon. Let's Go Ape!" There. That was somewhere between friendly and date-like. It was casual enough that she could say no.

"Yes, that's exactly what I need. I love those old-school ape films."

"Well, that was easier than I thought. Cool. I'll text you the info. I have to text Brooke and tell her I'm going with you." Warren really hoped she'd had a chance to ask that guy by now.

As Max walked away, Warren allowed himself to entertain the idea that it might be a date after all.

MWMWMWMWMW

Warren flopped onto his bed and grabbed the sketchbook off his bedside table. He wasn't much for art—besides digital art—but he'd picked up a pad of drawing paper at the dollar store the last time he was off campus. Max was so impressed with Daniel's portrait that Warren thought, maybe… maybe if he practiced a little bit, he could draw something that she'd notice. Something that would change the way she looked at him—not just as her nerdy, awkward friend.

He didn't know what to start with. He stared blankly at the page for a few minutes, waiting for inspiration to strike, before half-assedly outlining a squirrel. The proportions were right, but there was something maniacal about its facial expression that he just couldn't correct. _Crazy squirrel it is,_ he thought, proceeding to draw it with a lab coat, surrounded by Erlenmeyer flasks.

His phone rang, and, seeing that it was Max, he grabbed it immediately.

"Hey Warren, you busy?" Ha. Would there ever be a day when he was too busy for Max? Probably not.

"Uh… I'm playing WoW?" he blurted. He didn't know why he was too embarrassed to admit that he had taken up art. Probably because she'd assume he was doing it to impress her. Which he completely was.

"Just bubble-hearth, you'll be okay. Listen, I need your physics expertise—stat. Without naming names, if somebody had access to the art and science labs and wanted to construct a device that would, say, open a locked door, would you maybe kinda know how?" He cocked his head and grinned mischievously. This was definitely the sketchiest phone call he had ever received. Hopefully Max had some awesome prank in mind.

"Any particular reason you're asking?"

"Huh? No, I'm just asking for fun."

"Yeah, right. Well, you're in luck—I got you, girl." He rolled his eyes at himself. Goddamn it. Why was it so hard to say cool things around Max? He had no problem talking to anyone else, but he couldn't not sound like a total ass whenever she was around.

Max chuckled. "Thanks, Science Guy."

"I could even come help you out, if you want…?"

"Uh, n-no no, stay. We need you as backup. Just send the text instructions now." We. He was the tiniest bit jealous that she was off making bombs with someone else, until he realized how ridiculous that sounded.

"No problem-o, Max-a-million. So, you're still in for going ape, yeah?"

"Yes, I'm still all in to "Go Ape" with you at the drive-in… Thanks for the help."

The line cut off and Warren immediately texted her the instructions to make a crude pipe bomb. He explained what she had to do, then he had to ask:

 _Are you really going to try this?_

 _M: Key word is "try." I bow to your wisdom._

He sat and stared at his phone for about ten minute, waiting for the call saying that she was okay, or even better, that this was all a joke. He'd do anything for Max, and help her if she needed him, but… he just gave a novice scientist directions for building a deadly explosive. As the minutes ticked by, he began to regret his decision. Finally, he had to check in with her:

 _You still there?_

 _Did you blow up?_

 _Max?_

 _M: Still here, didn't blow up, not yet. I need to concentrate now, TTYL._

Well, that was better than nothing.

He waited a while—he didn't want to be a nuisance, but he couldn't focus on anything except the idea of Max as Walter White gone wrong…

 _So did you blow the lock, Unabomber?_

 _M: Oh, please. I just wanted to see if you knew your explosives._

 _M: And to see your incredible artwork._

Warren felt himself blushing as he went back to his drawing, trying just a little bit harder than before.

MWMWMWMWMW

Warren grabbed his keys and headed out the door to go grab lunch. As soon as he reached the hallway, he heard the dulcet tones of Nathan Prescott yelling about something ridiculous. That was really nothing new, until he mentioned Max's name.

"You are such a nosy bitch, Max!" That got Warren's attention. He straightened up, posture going rigid.

"Stop right there, Nathan!" Max was in the dorm, and she sounded scared.

"Make me, ho!"

Warren jogged toward the noise in a blind rage. He'd be damned if Nathan fucking Prescott was going to lay a hand on Max ever again. Calling Warren a fag, shoving him in the hallway, making him feel like shit, even giving him a black eye—Warren could get over all of that. He could let it roll off his back, because it really didn't matter. He didn't hurt people—he never had, and he never planned to—and not even his own well-being was enough to change that. But Max… that was a different story.

"Max. I got this." He pushed past her and Chloe, inserting himself between her and Nathan and shoving him back a few paces.

"Get the fuck out of my face!" Nathan spat at him in the voice of a cornered animal—a voice that would normally have freaked Warren out. But not today. He had reached his goddamn limit on the bullshit he would put up with. He didn't even respond, just went in for a headbutt, knocking Nathan to the ground in incredibly satisfying vindication. It hurt a lot more than Warren thought it would, and he staggered backward, clutching his own forehead for a beat. Truly, no one wins in a headbutt.

"You are so fucking dead!" Nathan raged at him, pulling a gun from one of his pockets. Warren didn't even hesitate, just kicked the gun out of his hands in a sick ninja move that he was too preoccupied to properly gloat over but would probably revisit every day for the rest of his life. He kicked Nathan in the face, sending him reeling back to the ground.

"Get off me, brah!" Nathan shouted, a little more desperately this time. But Warren was too far gone for it to really register. He had opened the floodgates on all his anger and pain, all the helplessness he'd felt as he watched the people he cared about being hurt at Nathan's hands. He landed a couple blows to Nathan's gut before finally finding his voice.

"So you like hurting people, huh? Like Max?" The memory made him see red, and he landed a particularly hard kick to Nathan's ribs.

"Like Kate?" He thought of his friend, laying in a hospital bed after nearly taking her own life, and kicked Nathan in the stomach.

"Like me? Huh? You motherfucker?" That was almost an afterthought, but the bruises fading from his eye made him more vengeful than usual. He kicked Nathan until he was curled up on the ground, then knelt down and kept punching him until he was whimpering. The bruises were already blooming on his face, and his lip was split, as were Warren's knuckles. The coppery scent of blood hung in the cramped hallway like a nauseating fog.

"Get… off me… please, please stop…"

Warren finally came to his senses, drawing back and standing up quickly, leaving the dorm before Max or Chloe had a chance to catch up with him. Max did catch him on the stairs, and briefly rested her hand on his elbow in a kind of quiet solidarity. Letting him know that she wouldn't look at him any differently after what he did.

They burst onto the front lawn, Warren panting a little as he came down from the testosterone rush.

"Damn… that was intense. Warren, thank you so much."

"For what?" He was glad Max was safe, but he didn't do anything to be proud of.

"For beating the shit out of Nathan Prescott? Dude, you rule." Warren dimly registered that this may have been the first time Chloe ever addressed him.

"I don't know. I kinda went crazy there… like Nathan."

"You're not anything like him." Max put her hand on his arm again, and Warren relaxed a little. He knew that… he just scared himself today. He couldn't let himself give in to the dark side like that.

"Good to know." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, already feeling himself returning to normal. He offered to come with Max and Chloe, but they had some kind of secret mission they had to do alone.

"I'll call you later."

"You better. I'm feeling pretty alpha now."

"Yes. You are." He almost smiled, but not quite. Instead, he just walked a few paces backwards to look at Max for an extra couple seconds before turning and heading back inside. He really wasn't hungry anymore. When he got upstairs, Nathan was nowhere to be found. Ashamed, he tried to shove his hands in his pockets, but his aching knuckles protested. He pulled them back out—they were crusted in drying blood. With a nauseating pang, he realized that he wasn't sure whose blood he was looking at. Knowing it would be empty at this time of day, he shoved his way into the shower room and dry-heaved a few times over the garbage can, but there was nothing in his stomach except a trickle of bile. Gross.

He didn't have any of his stuff with him, but he went into a shower stall anyway, stripping off his layers of T-shirts, jeans, and Yoshi boxers. He turned the water on, cranking it as hot as it would go. It burned against his skin—especially against the fresh wounds on his hands and the old ones on his face. He pumped a handful of pink goo soap out of the dispenser on the shower wall, roughly scrubbing the blood off his knuckles. He scrubbed away some fresh clots, and the split skin began to bleed anew.

"Shit," he hissed, moving on to scrub his forearms. The muscles contracted, cording visibly under his skin. His whole body was tense—wired, but not in the good, pumped up way. More like the way he had heard Justin describe a bad trip.

What happened in the hallway—it was just desserts, right? Prescott had earned a little payback after the way he terrorized the school. Warren had felt justified, even heroic, until suddenly… suddenly he just hadn't. All he could think about was the way he'd kept hitting Nathan until he whimpered and begged Warren to stop. It was just… pathetic. It was sad. It was way too human for Nathan Prescott. Hearing it was so uncomfortable—so deeply unsettling—that Warren had had to pull himself away from the boy and get out of there. His conscience just couldn't allow him to hit a human being who was making those sounds.

He felt himself tense up again and forced himself to relax.

"Aquaman, Batman, Catwoman… Deadpool… Elektra… The Flash, Groot, Hulk, Iron Man…" He started listing heroes for every letter of the alphabet. It was lame, but it took his mind off of Nathan. Well, a little bit, at least. Until he got stuck on 'Q'.

He scrubbed his entire body twice, even washing his hair with the goo. He kept going until there was no more soap in the dispenser and the scalding water turned tepid. He turned it off, wondering what he would do about a towel.

"Quicksilver! Of course!" he exclaimed out loud, actually cracking a smile.

He decided to put on his T-shirt and boxers over wet skin. He tried his jeans, but they stuck to his legs and annoyed him, so he sprinted back to his room in his underwear. Luckily, no one saw.


End file.
